


Anger Management

by brokenhighways



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Anger Management, Bathroom Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:31:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4934251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenhighways/pseuds/brokenhighways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luther Wainwright and Craig O’Laughlin end up embroiled in a fiery clash when they’re both summoned to an anger management class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anger Management

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sirenofodysseus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/gifts).



> Written for my girl Amber. Unbeta'd.

**Anger Management**

**(Luther/Craig, The Mentalist)**

Luther Wainwright is a short tempered consultant who works with the FBI.

Craig O’Laughlin is an FBI agent who doesn’t hold any punches.

They meet at an anger management class.

Luther gets in trouble when he shatters his nineteenth coffee mug; they’re not listening to him and he just wants to be heard. That’s all that he’s ever wanted.

Craig...well, he gets a little rough with his partner. His partner is a little slower, definitely less sharp and sometimes, only _sometimes_ , Craig loses his patience.

On this Friday afternoon, Craig and Luther are the first to arrive at the stuffy community hall.

Luther’s first thought is: _At least we’re not in a church basement._

Craig’s is _I could kill for a taco right now._

They clash before the meeting even begins. First it’s basic questions, followed by some rigid FBI related banter. Craig calls Luther a square. Luther heavily implies that Craig is a grunt.

They end up interrogating each other.

Luther asks how long Craig’s been working for the bureau and Craig gets suspicious.

“What are you going to ask me next?” he growls. “How about the size of my damn dick?”

Luther’s adorned in slick designer suit, complete with expensive cufflinks and shiny, expensive shoes. Craig’s in his best cheap suit, not caring that the drab, unpleasant fabric hangs off him awkwardly. Luther’s got an expensive haircut, Craig’s got a cheap buzzcut.

“Judging by the level of overcompensating you’re doing right now, I’m guessing that the answer is _small_.” Luther can be feisty when he wants to. He’s no fucking square.

They’re different, that much is obvious.

Well.

Apart from the anger management thing.

Craig strikes Luther on the face. Luther takes him out with a well-placed foot. They tussle. Luther fights like he hasn’t in years. Craig holds back because, asshole or not, this punk isn’t worth him losing his job over. Luther might look like an office boy, but Craig’s been in this job long enough to know that a punk like Luther could have some real power.

The fight comes to a natural end. Luther stops moving and Craig steps backward. He looks at Luther and looks back at himself. Luther looks as shiny and well put together as he did when he first entered. Craig’s jacket is torn.

He concedes defeat.

“I’ve been with the bureau for eight years,” he mutters. Eight fucking, miserable years, but he doesn’t say that. They’re not allowed to say that.

“I’ve been consulting for four years,” Luther replies. “Apparently once I’m done here, they’re sending me over to the CBI.”

Craig laughs. He really laughs. Shiny, stuck-up, Luther entering the fuzzy disarray of the CBI? Working with that arrogant prick Patrick Jane? There’s no doubt in his mind that Luther would end up rubbing elbows with Jane. No doubt at all.

“My fiancee works for them,” he says, just to have a response. Grace is nice. Her skin feels warm under his hands. Her lips taste sweet, kind of like cherries. The way she looks at him makes him _feel_ sometimes. She’s…nice.

Craig doesn’t really do nice.

“Oh?” Luther’s response is short and to the point. A quiet _I don’t give a fuck_. Craig snorts and sinks back down into his chair.

Luther watches Craig with varying ranges of bemusement. Something is off. He’s not sure if it’s anger or something else. He might just be a consultant but he’s done his profiler training. Everything about Craig screams _red flag._

“Yeah,” Craig says. “I doubt that we’ll make it down the aisle though.” Luther cocks his head to one side. That’s an odd thing to divulge to a stranger. Or the perfect thing. After all, California is a huge place. Chances are they won’t ever see each other again.

That’s proved wrong when they end up in the bathroom five minutes later. Craig’s teeth are sinking into his neck and Luther hands are in his pants. Luther isn’t really sure how they got here. One minute he’s reeling from Craig’s admission and the next, his lips feel bruised and he’s got his hands on another man’s dick. He gives it a perfunctory tug, suddenly realising that he’s rusty at this. College was one thing, but men aren’t really his thing. Women aren’t either. Luther’s been in a monogamous relationship with _work_ for as long as he can remember.

That’s probably why he ended up shattering nineteen coffee mugs.

Craig’s the kind of guy that gets impatient quickly. He wastes no time in batting Luther’s hands away from his pants and wastes no time getting the other man’s buckle undone.

Grace is beautiful, but she’s never been what he wants. Never. And even if she was, he can’t have her. She’s never been his. Not really.

Luther probably isn’t either, but he’ll do for now. He’ll do.

They move against each other in near silence. Luther bites his lip _hard_ while Craig sucks his dick, it’s sloppy and wet but that doesn’t stop his hips from bucking up in delight. He chokes down a moan as Craig fondles his balls, feels them tighten up. A minute or two passes before he comes, without the time to give Craig any warning.

Craig’s lips are on his before he can feel any embarrassment and Luther feel’s his tension drain away as their tongue dance across each other violently. Craig kisses him like this their last day on Earth. It’s so overwhelming that Luther feels a sense of trepidation thinking about what will happen next. When Craig turns him around and pulls his pants all the way down, Luther is sure that he trembles. Craig asks a question but he doesn’t say no. Fear aside, there’s no way he could say no. Not now. He’s not scared of getting fucked, just scared at how much he _wants_ it.

Craig’s motto has always been ‘be prepared’.

There’s a familiar crinkle of foil and the snick of a small cap. Slick fingers make their way into the small crevice and Luther lets out an ungodly moan. Craig can tell he’s not going to last, and soon he’s pushing in and past the resistance.

His thrusts are slow and unsteady at first but he soon picks up an easy rhythm. Hard and fast. The small, dingy bathroom is soundtracked by his enthusiastic words, Luther’s grunts and the slip-slap of skin on skin.

Tension builds before he can even begin to the savour the moment, or enjoy the warm, snug tightness. He erupts wordlessly, hips stuttering as his muscles convulse. Luther trembles in front of him, his hands moving frantically as he coaxes out his own release.

_Not bad_ , Craig thinks.

He came to this meeting thinking that he’d need to hit up a jiggle joint later, but Luther Wainwright is quite the catch. He has the same mousey demeanour as Grace. He seems like he’s easy to mould, like he actually cares about being a good person. Underneath that, there’s a darker edge, an intensity that he never lets anyone see.

Craig sees it; he intends to see it again and again. And again.

Luther’s not sure if it’s shame or pleasure that he feels, but for a moment, there’s not tension. Just a slight pain in his ass and a hollow emptiness that won’t last for long. He feels free. He knows that sex is all about release, but it’s never felt like that for him. Not really.

He glances up at Craig while they’re fixing their clothes, and wonders if he’s just never found the right person.

Craig adjusts his belt buckle and pulls out a plain, white card.

“If you ever want to _talk_ , here’s my card.”

_If you ever want to fuck, here’s my card_. That’s what he really means.

Luther waits for that sick feeling to hit his gut but it doesn’t. Instead he’s overcome by a wave of excitement. He takes the card and nods silently.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Craig leaves, door shutting quietly behind him. Luther exhales deeply and turns to look at himself in the mirror. Gone is his usual pale skin; he looks flushed and _alive_. He feels alive, like every single one of his nerve endings are on fire. He opens the tap, splashes his face with cold water and washes his hands.

By the time he makes it back to the anger management session, it’s almost over. He takes his seat and tries to listen anyway. It’s all stuff that he’s heard before, but he can’t quite find it in himself to feel aggrieved.

Especially when Craig winks at him from across the room. Luther flushes and looks away pointedly.

There’s no manual for this. No _protocol._ That should freak him out but it doesn’t. It doesn’t and _that_ freaks him out.

He’s almost disappointed when Craig’s cell rings, signalling that important FBI business has come up.

That feeling is vanquished when Craig announces that he’ll ‘see everyone next week’. He glances at Luther while he says it. Something flutters in Luther’s chest. His heart beats loud and clear.

It sounds like a promise.

_Fin. :)_


End file.
